


E quindi uscimmo, a riveder le stelle

by Dan_iel



Series: The Comedia [1]
Category: La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri
Genre: AND SUFFER, Angst, Blood and Violence, Hell, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paradise, Purgatory, The Divine Comedy, Violence, are dead, dante crying, divina comedia, people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:16:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_iel/pseuds/Dan_iel
Summary: - - -Dante opens his mouth to say something, closes it, then opens it again."You should go" he says, his voice sharp and low. It's the first time Virgil heard Dante talk to him that way. He can't decipher his look.So he turns and walks away.He would've regret that for the rest of his life.- - -In which Dante and Virgil go through Hell, Purgatory and Paradise only to find what they needed was right in front of their eyes.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The Divine Comedy is a work that was always so close to me, and shaped me as the literature nerd I am and yes, I haven't regret it for a second.  
> On a cold winter day of 2017 I decided to write the story how I see it, with my precious Dante and Virgil walking and talking and falling (in love, but also literally falling).  
> I hope you'll love it as much as I do and that maybe it will make you want to go read the original work :)  
> //  
> V2 on 18-10-2k18

“ _ **The course of a man’s life is that he, fooled by hope, dances into the arms of death”**_

_**(‘On the Vanity of Existence’ by Arthur Schopenhauer)** _

\- - -

 

The Latin poet lays on his back, looking at the ceiling. Not much to see actually. Simple, rough stone with no decorations whatsoever. Made you really believe the Limbo was a place forsaken by all the gods. The entire castle was bare, no fancy architecture, paintings, frescoes, nothing at all. Virgil can’t stand that. He’s what you could call an art nerd, he venerates all forms of art. When he was alive he loved art more than anything in the world, he believed in it more than any believer would in his god. Now, that’s slightly incorrect. There was one thing he loved more than art. Not a thing, a who. And Virgil left him.

A place without art is a room without books, soulless.

Ugh.

Even quoting Cicero makes his head pound. Lately any thought had become heavy, and the boy needs to sit and collect himself. Breaking apart seems to be happening so belatedly. He didn’t fall apart when he discovered he himself was dead, he didn’t cry, pray, beg. He didn’t feel anything.

Much like those walls, he felt empty.

He hates that room, that place, bare and naked of anything that could make it alive. He hates it, but he has found himself spending more and more time inside those four walls. Still naked bare and ugly. But also comforting somehow. Maybe it’s because he feels as bare as those stone walls, or as cold, as heartless. He doesn't know. He’s not sure he wants to know. He had learnt that truths aren’t kind companions. They’re more like hungry wolves, ready to tear your intestines apart at your first wrong move.

The rest of the structure was studded with rectangular holes that acted as windows, there just were no glass. Or frame. They were just holes, no beauty at all. Beauty and aesthetic weren’t thinkable concepts there. Virgil imagines that they probably have the most beautiful places and architectures in Paradise, knowing those presumptuous saints and angels. Everything must be made of gold, with ambrosia flowing out of every fountain. Trees full of colorful fruits that taste like, well, like heaven. Gardens with all the most beautiful flowers, diffusing their intoxicating smell in the air.

And they say people that go to Heaven have no sins. Well, clearly people have never met angels. He has. And they’re not nice. The opposite in fact: they’re wicked. They’ll brainwash you with those sparkly eyes and golden hair, and make you do everything they want. Everyone falls for them. Virgil has always known better than that. He can see the true nature of a person by looking into their eyes, and he’s pretty proud of his skill. But there’s one more reason why he would never fall for a pretty angel, it’s a long story though.

The poet turns on his side and grunts. Sometimes he misses being hungry, at least he would have a reason to get up. Infinite nothingness in limbo is much more boring than one would imagine. He eats anyway though, everyone does here. Food is good, it just isn’t satisfying to eat if you’re never hungry. He doesn’t understand how angels and saints can stuff themselves with tremendous amounts of food all the time. Maybe food tastes better with an altitude, he doesn’t know. The boy’s never dared get close to Heaven’s food. He doesn’t like shallow pretty things.

Speaking if which, Virgil has fantasized about Paradise a lot, but he never wished he was there. It wasn’t for him. When he died he thought he could be left alone. He didn’t need any of that Hell-Paradise bullshit. But then That guy came in the picture. They call him God. With a capital G. Like he’s somehow more important than other gods. Anyway, he couldn’t accept that kid, that improvised joke of god Christians put in charge. Can you imagine the shock of everyone, when this kid proclaimed himself the new one and only God? Bet you can’t. Well that’s because you weren’t there. Virgil wasn’t there either, he was in peaceful slumber, like any dead person should be. Black nothingness and a dreamless sleep, buried six feed under the dirt. But then, this kid decided he had to put things in order and woke Every Single Soul up. Then he made up facilities, and started sorting the souls in three different places: Hell, Purgatory and Heaven.

When they explained it to him, they said something about more and more people starting to believe in him and his power growing stronger bla bla something about the power of faith bla bla. Also Virgil doesn’t understand His stubbornness with taking souls in his facilities. Sometimes the souls are believers but sometimes, like in the poet’s case, they aren’t. That’s why those heathens souls are put in the first ring of Hell, the Limbo. Poets and writers flood this place, whether they like being awake from death or not. Funny ain’t it? How you die, and you think it’s over because, it Should be over, and then ‘poof’, you’re not over anymore. So now you can face your regrets, and suffer a torment worse than death, haunted by your memories and seeing all they people you love die. Thank you big G. At least He didn’t put him in Heaven, now that would've been a torture. Hell is all screams, sad and torture yes, but at least people here are real and honest. No sugarcoating, no hypocrisy, no farces. Anyway the big G was simply boring. His gods were much more entertaining, always coming among humans to play. Yes, there were quite some issues and... complications arose often; but it was the best time to be living in. And everyone believed. Today the few that do, believe in the wrong gods.

And so Virgil woke up in this crappy castle made of grey stone and has to put up with Homer’s never ending poems about his heroes. That Virgil loves, god how could he not. Can you imagine having your favorite authors reciting you their works live? It was exciting and amazing at first but, hearing the same 400 pages read on repeat for 100 years does make you go crazy.

\---

He finally gathers enough strength to get up and exits to get some fresh hair. That day, like a lot of days lately, seemed to be going on forever, it seemed to not want to end and it was a torture.

Before leaving he throws a quick glance at the room he had imprisoned himself into. Shame weights on his shoulders. He would be very angry if he saw Virgil like that. He’d surely yell at him or something. And the poet would sell his soul to get yelled by Him, one more time, one last time.

Virgil drags his feet to the edge of the river, where the poets are assembled as usual, to read and chat.

They were a good company, he can’t deny that, it’s just that sometimes they’re too hung up on their beliefs and don’t accept change. He guesses all old people are like that. Like the elderly in his hometown. Until someone breaks the circle, he was going to believe all old people are narrow minded. He hops besides Ovid and tries to understand the topic of that day.

Ugh. Love.

Of course.

It was a recurrent theme those couple of weeks, beats him he doesn’t not know the reason for that.

Everyone else seems to adore it. Virgil can’t share the same joy. He can’t talk about love lightly. He can’t talk about love period. He can’t. Not after-

“I see you were Right where I expected you to be, deaR” a sweet female voice speaks behind him, stressing the R’s with a strong Italian accent.

The poet’s blood boils, his muscles tense. He feels bile coming up from his stomach and fights the urge to spit it out. Virgil closes his eyes, waiting for that feeling to pass. He opens them again to see exactly what he feared; what he knew he was going to see, what he wished with all his might not to see ever again. He assumes luck, karma, providence; none are on his side. None have ever been. God is dead, and so is he.

“Beatrice” he says at last through gritted teeth.

 

_**\- - -** _

 

Virgil continues walking quickly through the forest. It wasn’t an easy task, trying to not get sliced by the sharp branches of the pines. Squeezing his not-so-little figure through the dense grove of trees, under fallen trunks, trying to keep his balance. He’s restless. He’s almost running, knowing what he’s going to, Who he’s going to.

The words of the angel didn’t hit him at first.

 

\- - -

 

“I want you to guide Dante through Hell and Purgatory, leading him to Paradise where I’ll take the lead. Mmh, you don’t really have to do much, just be his guide and support. Like you’ve always done in the past.”

To that word Beatrice gives him an eloquent look adding “Just don’t try anything weird.”

“Like what?” he blurted.

She lets out an exasperate sigh.

He knows. The two never got along. And he was going to keep it that way. Virgil didn’t like her, he wasn’t going to hide it. And she didn’t like him back. It was mutual at least.

“Could you stop with that arrogant act for a second and pay attention to me?” the pretty angel sighs, again. “I know what I’ve done, okay? I’ve repented, and that’s why God let Me live in Heaven while You got a 5 star suite in the Limbo with all these smelly old people!”

To which she gets a lot of curse words in Latin and Greek, from the offended poets that get up and leave. Now they are alone.

“I’m afraid I cannot comply your request, milady” he answers with a sly smile.

“Oh get over it, Virgil. An entire century has passed. How can you hold a grudge for so long?” she sighs, again, and fixes her skirt, which didn’t need fixing at all. “It’s not even entirely my fault, he chose Me. I never forced him to do anything. Da-”

“DO NOT pronounce his name with that dirty mouth of yours, traitor.” Virgil tries to stop his hands from shaking, the memories of the past drowning his thoughts. Now he was angry. She hit a nerve. He thought he could keep his cool but apparently not. Not with her. She knows, too much, everything. That woman always found a way to set him off.

“I see the tiger didn’t change its spots. Talking to you like this reminds me of the old times” she shyly smiles-

He gets up.

“If you have nothing more to say and you’ve had enough fun toying with my feelings I‘d go away now. I’m tired” he says looking far in the distance. It wasn’t a lie, he was suddenly exhausted. Talking to Beatrice made him remember all the things he thought he remembered enough. Apparently he didn’t. All those emotions, buried deep down, started to come back to the surface. Being locked for so much time made them raw and stronger. Two things that shouldn’t be together to wreak him in that moment? Raw and strong feelings. He turns to leave that joke of a situation, only to be stopped by something grabbing his wrist.

“Take you filthy hands Off me woman”

She lets his sleeve go, her hands gripping the sides of her dress, wrinkling it.

She sighs sadly “It’s Not a joke Virgil” the angel murmurs.

He turns his head, still wary.

“God sent me. He figured to send someone that you know, so you’d trust them. He doesn’t really care about our past relationship. He didn’t even tell me much. I only know what I’ve told you. I guess He, as everyone, doesn’t think angels are smart or trustworthy” she almost seemed sad, about being underestimated like that. It lasts less than a second though and now she’s back with her arrogant facade. “Either way you Must leave now to go meet Dante at the border of the Selva and start leading him through Hell.”

Virgil almost feels pity for her, after all she was everything but stupid, he knew that, he wouldn’t even waste time speaking to her if that wasn’t the case. She was quick-witted, smart, even brilliant to some. Being treated that unfairly didn’t seem right even to him.

…

He said he Almost feels pity.

“I understand” he agrees quietly.

Beatrice looks at him in the eyes, she seems relieved that he accepted easily. Virgil has no intention to make her job harder than it already is. No angel gets sent to Hell. The point is, if Beatrice was sent there, she was actually not that high in Heaven’s hierarchy. They didn’t see each other often, but sometimes he made some errands for the big G so they did met a few times that past century. She always said Paradise was great, and went on about its magnificence and splendor, its heavenly beauty. She never mentioned anything about the downsides. If he hadn’t known her his whole life he’d say she didn’t trust him. But that was not the case. Pride. That’s why she didn’t tell him. She’s always been a little too prideful. Just like Virgil. And it always got the three of them in trouble; those were fun times. He misses those times almost like his Aeneas misses the destroyed city of Troy. Deeply. Foolishly. As it is the most insane thing to long for past times. Time is at its core and for definition cruel, unforgiving. Virgil had learnt that the hard way. The most terrible way.

He had died.

“Bea” he whispers, using the nickname of their childhood. Needless to say he know has the angel’s fullest attention “Do you want me to convey a message to Dante? You wanna tell him something after all this time? You haven’t been out nearly as long as me, but I bet you’ve missed him sorely too” Virgil uses a sweet tone, and speaks slow, as if he was talking to a baby or a cute animal. The fact that him and Beatrice hated each other, didn’t change the fact that they spent their whole life together. They knew each other weaknesses and strengths, they were each other shield and best weapon. Although it was the third person that made everything work out.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll see him soon enough. Couple of days won’t change much” she quickly answers.

Apparently he had succeeded in making her flustered. She was also blushing, and he couldn’t deny that that look suited her pearl-like light complexion. Those reddish strokes of red on her cheeks stood out from her usual cadaverous silhouette.

“All right. I guess I’ll see you around then” Virgil sets out to the entrance of the Limbo.

“Ugh, I’d pray to never see you again but that would be a hard task even for God” she speaks to his back loud enough for him to hear, Virgil swears he can hear her smile while saying that sentence.

“Go to Hell, Beatrice” he waves his hand still walking.

“I already am” she shouts back.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- - -

:p editing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading until this point. Comments and kudos are much appreciated :))


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